


The Only Words I'll Say

by compo67



Series: Chicago Verse [21]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Sam, Couch Sex, Dean Sings, Deepthroating, Domestic Dean Winchester, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Sam, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Post-Series, Rough Oral Sex, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 16:53:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1865340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/compo67/pseuds/compo67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the air conditioning goes out in the summer, Dean has an idea. A couch fort is built to solve their problems and maybe just to hide away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only Words I'll Say

**Author's Note:**

> Please forgive all mistakes. I wrote this on my phone. At 3 am. I'm exhausted but it had to be written.
> 
> This isn't the smut I said would be next so there's more after this. 
> 
> Song is "I just want you" by the amazing Sara Bareilles. It's a beautiful song. Listen to it and think of Dean singing it. I love the way Sara hums. 
> 
> /sleeps/

The air conditioning gives out, mid July, at nine in the morning on a Sunday.

By three, it's clear that they need to create a makeshift solution or they will melt under another Chicago summer. Dean walks around, his cane tapping on the floor, grumbling that of all the places they could have lived they chose what used to be a swamp by the river.

In the end, Dean comes up with a plan that doesn't suck. He bosses Sam around in the construction phase; Sam doesn't always listen and things take longer with their bickering. Sam insists that he knows how to make a pillow fort and dean counters that Sam doesn't know how to make a pillow fort the right way. Pushing Sam out of the way with his cane, Dean takes over. 

Sam does not sulk. He broods. 

A miniature cooling fan is plugged into the outlet near the couch. Two large glasses of water with five ice cubes each are placed on the coffee table. The fort is a combination of couch pillows and bed sheets. Their two couches are moved to form a V, and the fan is pointed inside. Smaller pillows are tossed in, and Dean closes the blinds. 

Windows open, the screens filter the sounds of their block on a Sunday. Kids are playing basketball. Pushcarts are offering specials because of the heat. Mrs. Martinez has Celia Cruz on full blast again; she must be watering her garden. 

Dean declares himself the most powerful man in Westeros. Therefore, this is his iron throne. He lowers himself to the ground, tossing his cane aside, and scoots into the fort. Sam watches as his brother shimmies out of one article of clothing at a time. 

"I hope this is as hot as it gets," Sam sighs as he climbs in once invited.

In the surprising coolness of the fort, Dean murmurs, "Oh my sweet summer child... You're fuckin' stupid."

"I'll demolish your fort if you don't stop quoting that." Sam finishes stripping, throwing his clothes to their fate south of the forth.

"You can't," Dean snorts, rolling over onto his side. They face each other but don't touch. Too hot to touch. "I'm the King."

"Fuck the King."

"Hypocrite!" Dean laughs. "You're full of shit, Sammy."

Nodding, Sam adds that he isn't the one who built a couch fort like they aren't too old to do this.

This isn't a rented, rundown, temporary depository. This is home. This is beers after work and chores on the weekends and harping after Dean to quit leaving his cane where Sam inevitably trips over it.

These are the sheets from Dean's bed--600 thread count, light blue, crisp and fresh. These are pillows that Sam picked out. 

This is home.

And they aren't kids. 

Peeking out for a moment, Dean grabs one of the glasses of water. Most of the ice cubes have melted already. He lays back down on his side and takes a sip, looking directly at Sam, who looks right back.

Dean sets down the glass, keeping it near, and he moves forward. The kiss he gives is cold and wet. Sam hisses at the iciness. 

Another drink of water. Another kiss. Another drink. Sam opens his mouth. Dean's tongue is cold. He sucks on it, moaning, rocking his hips forward, his breath hitching. 

Holy shit.

The glass is pushed to Sam's mouth. He is made to drink nearly half of it.

Dean lies on his back and spreads his legs open. Nothing is a better sight. Nothing.

Moved down, Sam blows Dean. The coolness in his mouth turns into heat as he slurps and chokes and bins his head. Heavy and bloated, the cock in his throat twitches. Spit slicks it up. When Sam pauses, Dean huffs. He reaches down. With one hand he cups Sam's chin. With the other he holds his cock. An outline of Sam's lips are painted with the flushed tip. 

Mouth pried open, Dean feeds his cock to Sam, pushing, shoving, taking. Sam's eyes water. He whines and gags and looks up, keeping his eyes desperate. More.

Practiced hands thread through Sam's hair and pull. 

Solid thighs frame Sam's face. 

"Take it," is growled from above. "Sammy, take it."

Pushing up, driving in, Sam coughs. He sputters and spits and his face is red with effort. He takes Dean all the way to the base. Dean curls up and yanks Sam down further, until Sam's chin is applying pressure onto Dean's balls. 

Sam holds up his right hand for a second. 

Dean draws back. 

He thumbs away the tears and spit from Sam's face, pulling him up, kissing him and murmuring.

"Don't you give me no more than just enough." Sam closes his eyes to this sound. "I just want you. I don't want the easy way. At the end of the day, the only words I'll say are I just want you. Mmhmm. Mmm."

The low, gritty rumble of it is confined to this fort, to an audience of one.

"Take it all away, if it isn't meant for me. It's taken all my life to hear the sacred sound of sweet simplicity. They can give me everything. But at the end of the day... I just want you. Mmhmm."

Elevated, supported, Sam rises up. A packet of lube is slipped into his hand. The fan whirs on. 

Sam sinks down.

He braces himself on Dean's chest. Inch by inch, the drag is gratifying. 

Filled up, Sam bows. He rests his head on a freckled shoulder and spreads his legs apart a little more. 

Firm hands hold his ass open. Curious fingers trace the place where they converge. Dean's hips push up. His breathing is harder; Sam sighs into his jaw line. 

 

Spartan movements upwards are given. Nothing fancy. Just enough. Enough to pound against a place inside Sam that makes him gasp and clench and milk the cock buried inside him. Enough to hear the floorboards creak underneath them and the sound of Dean's balls slapping against Sam's ass. Enough to make Sam's cock twitch and fatten, confined between their middles, dragging along the patch of skin on Dean that tans the easiest.

Dean holds Sam to his chest. 

Sam's eyes roll back. He half mutters a warning. Coming. Dean. Coming. 

Over the tiniest, faintest freckles on dean's body, Sam spills himself. He marks up what is and has always been his from lower stomach to chest. 

Trembling, Sam hiccups when Dean keeps moving. Tears well up in Sam's eyes again. He tosses his head. The tremors of his body fight against Dean. Again. Again. Coming again. 

He feels Dean come first. Come is thick inside him. Every thrust after that creates a squelch. Sweat runs between them, mixing with come and tears and spit. 

At the last moment, Dean shoves Sam's hips up and slips out. 

Their eyes meet. 

Sam lowers his head again. He presses his cheek to Dean's cheek and braces himself. 

One, two, three. Dean slams all the way in and pulls all the way out. Sam shouts. On the fourth, he begs. Stay in. Fuck. Stay in, please. 

On the sixth, Dean seals them together, curling his hips up and grinding Sam's down. Second time. Coming. Dean. Coming.

Come ropes across Dean's middle once again, making a mess. Sam's thighs flutter.

Hands that card through his hair ensure that his breathing steadies. 

"Got a short-lived life and a song to sing," Dean breathes, his mouth near Sam's forehead. "The only way up is believing and never looking down."

Sam hums. "Mmhmm mmm."

What little is left in the glass is shared between them. Dean gives and takes for himself. 

He sets the glass down. 

Their feet stick out of the fort.


End file.
